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Where the Wild Things Are

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Kirishima Eijirou was a dragon mage, one a very rare breed in their world. Not for lack of effort on the part of others but because the task of killing a dragon, bathing in it’s blood and eating of it’s flesh to take in it’s magic, forging armor and weapons from it’s bones, was not one taken lightly. It had to be done alone, for starters, or the magic wouldn’t take hold (there was no way around that, it was one of the most old and sacred of rituals, written into the very fabric of magic) and if that wasn’t enough to turn someone off the threat of losing one's humanity usually was. 

Being a true Dragon Mage was a mission taken on by none but the most determined. And, if one believed his king and closest friend, only the most insane.

Yet Eijirou had done it, and not just once. No, he’d taken down enough dragons in his time to be able to line the walls of his hut with trophies, to have amassed a considerable amount of wealth in selling parts, and to have a magical core that was more creature than man at the best of times. Off putting for some but he didn’t mind it. If anything it put him in good company back home; after all if their chieftain was blessed by the moon goddess herself and able to take the form of her most holy animal, the wolf, then who could take issue with some sharp teeth and claws? 

It went without saying that Eijirou had seen plenty of battle, had tarried on death’s door more than once, and was no stranger to magic or those who wielded it. It took a lot to surprise him these days and yet he was rendered temporarily speechless at the sight of High Chief Enji’s heir, and not just because the man was an omega or even just because he was a warrior-mage, a rare enough combination back home without factoring in his dynamic. 

No, the real shock was in the sheer ferocity of him. 

But maybe it shouldn’t have been. They’d been warned before the attack that there would be three major threats in taking down Chief Enji. The first was the king himself, of imposing physical prowess and a demonspawn able to wield hellfire as easy as he breathed, supposedly unmatched by all but the Great Hero All Might. The second was Enji’s mate and advisor, a red winged mage with power over wind and able to use his feathers as weapons and as support tools. Third was Enji’s heir, Shouto, a demon spawn-elemental hybrid who, among all of Enji’s many children, was deemed worthy to take the throne one day, near unheard of for a breeder. But he was supposed to be of keen mind and amazing power, with no qualms about spilling blood and lacking all of the gentle nature omegas were meant to have. He’d decimated his father’s enemies, snuffed out uprisings, and expanded Eni’s territory with only his two retainers, a blue winged knight and a green haired elf, at his side. 

It was impressive, and enough to stop any enemies who dared to make a move of the demon chief for a long while. So impressive that no one had even made an attempt in years, and that Enji had tripled his territory, absorbing other smaller clans into his own, with little pushback. 

Until now. His southern borders were pushing against Eijirou’s homeland and scouts had been seen passing the border, lurking around their outskirt villages, taking their resources and recently starting little skirmishes. Testing the strength of their borderriders in preparation for an invasion, most likely. 

But they had something none of the fallen clans had in their arsenal. An insider, willing to spill everything he knew about Chief Enji, his army, his tactics, and his family. 

Dabi, as the mysterious demon caller who’d just shown up in their central village one day called himself, knew everything there was to know and had shared it all happily. All he wanted was the promise of being able to kill Enji himself and lay claim to the man’s mate. No gold or jewels, no land, no title: just blood on his hands and a stolen omega to keep. An easy thing to promise him, sworn to in blood with magic that promised to sear any who dared to betray the contract from the inside out and forfeit all of their magic to the other party, and then their plans had been underway. 

It had gone well. Dabi lead them through Enji’s territory, showed them out of the way swamps, valleys, and cave systems that kept their army unnoticed, gave them a map of the central village, marked for where the warrior barracks were, where traps had laid last time Dabi had been welcome in the village, and told them of the perfect time to attack. 

A holy day, the demon moon festival, where demonspawn were at their strongest and more virile, a day for finding mates and breeding in hopes that any child conceived would be blessed by the God-King of the Underworld. Everyone would have their guard down, drinks would be flowing freely (and easily poisoned by Momo’s tiny goloems.) and the attention of most would be on the villages omegas, dressed in finery, painted, and pierced for their night long dance to entice alphas to chase and catch them. 

It sounded like a good time to Eijiriou. He’d said as much as they crept through the shadows around the camp, stepping over the twitching, bug eyed bodies of the guards who’d succumbed to poison, and suggested they might adopt the tradition once the demonspawn clans were subdued. Bakugou had just smirked at him, which could have meant anything from ‘sure’ to ‘shut the fuck up and be serious’. It was hard to say what exactly his king was thinking, even when he came right out and said it. 

Maybe he just wasn’t interested in a holiday for chasing down omegas when he was so used to them throwing themselves at his feet. Eijirou wouldn’t be either, normally, as dragon’s’ were mono-mate species and none but his rightful mate would stir the fire inside of him, but even he could admit that watching two dozen omegas twisting and stomping in times to frantic drums and screaming strings, clad in only gauzy skirts and glittering jewelry, blood red and ebony black paint smeared on their chests and faces, was...hypnotic. Something about it, the energy and noise, the fluid movements and flashing shadows, the skin and dirt and paint, called to him. 

He wouldn’t have minded watching longer, but work needed to be done. 

The attack went to plan Momo leading most of their numbers to cut off and corral the citizens, Shinsou and Sero dealing with the warriors who hadn’t been taken out by poison, and Eijirou, Bakugou and Dabi going straight for Enji. They were expecting a hard battle, Dabi had stated rather blandly that not even Bakugou would be able to take Enji alone, but what they got was even more than expected. 

Enji had risen from his throne, breathing flames as horns grew from his head and leathery wings spread from his back, and then he called fire up from the earth itself, roaring flames and bubbling molten rock, jets of superheated water and steam that burst from the cracked ground. Behind him was a blond man with dark red wings and a visibly rounded stomach who threw out razor sharp feathers and blasts of air that nearly took even Eijirou off his feet, as well as two white haired figures using ice magic. 

Eijirou could understand all too well how Enji had risen to power and gone mostly unopposed. 

He also came to understand that Dabi was more than he’d claimed to be. Their guide had thrown off his cloak and, with a maniac laugh, started summoning demons. The strange black ink that covered half his face and much of his body had dripped away like ichor, sizzling as it hit the ground and from the pitch black bubbling pools had come creatures of all shapes and sizes. Some skinless, organs spilling, blood dotting the earth with every step, and pain shrieks rending the air, some with exposed brains and hundreds of lidless bulging eyes, with lipless mouths in deathshead grins, with beaks and muzzles full of razor sharp fangs, with wings and tentacles, thousands of arms, unnatural bulging muscles and drooping skin, and more. Too much for Eijiriou to even keep up with, hundreds, maybe even thousands of horrific beasts who charged forward and fell to waves of hellfire. 

Even with those numbers at his beck and call, and blue flames so hot they were turning the sand beneath their feet to glass Dabi still seemed to pale in terms of sheer power against Enji, his fire batted aside and his army destroyed almost as fast as they could pull themselves free of the tar that birthed them. (The smell was what Eijiriou would remember best, of cooking flesh and boiling waste as bodies popped like sausages left on the fire too long.) Maybe they could have been at a stalemate it Enji hadn’t had allies. 

This was why he’d come to them, come to Bakugou, the Berserker Wolf King, for help. Bakugou was not fireproof, but under the full red moon he was nearly invulnerable, wounds healing near instantly, he felt no pain and while his fire magic was lesser than a demon’s it was formidable in a different way, manifesting as explosions that turned the very air to flame. He stood tall, howls tinged with laughter as he pushed forward through flames and slicing feathers where monsters fell around him, and it was easy to believe that he was truly loved by the Moon. 

Eijirou was not a fire dragon. He’d eaten a few, had fire in his belly, but thirst first dragon he’d taken into himself had been old, huge, and one with the earth. In a battle of flashy magic and flame he didn’t really look like much, but that was just how earth dragons were. He held his own, as he always did. He roared and the ground shook, stomped and it tore apart the ground, willed it and great slabs of twisting stone jutted up and caged his enemies.  

In the end they won, with minimal casualties on their side. When their king fell to his knees, one side of his face charred black, eye a gorey hole, and what Dabi identified as their only princess laid dead the rest quickly back down. 

“That the heir?” Bakugou asked, inclining his head towards the still living ice magic user, a man older than them, hands chain behind his back with Sero’s magic, weeping over the body of the princess. 

“Eldest prince. ...the oldest acknowledged one, at least.” Dabi sneered. He was crouched in front of Chief Enji, had been speaking to him in a language Eijirou didn’t know in harsh whispers but he stood fully to address them, one hand still holding tightly to the king’s hair. “The heir must be out walking the border. He’s not the sort to be interested in the demon moon and his retainers aren’t here either.” 

The king spat something in that other tongue, glaring with his remaining eyes. Dabi smiled, wide and sharp before murmuring something back. Enji glowered but said no more, the half of his mouth still capable of movement pressing into a thin, defiant line. Dabi laughed then shrugged. He snapped his fingers and, before the sound had faded from the air screams filled it. Flames, sapphire blue and diamond white, consumed the mourning prince from head to toe, turned him into his, and as he collapsed onto her body his sister’s, own funeral pyre. It was over as abruptly as it began, the scream bloodcurdling scream cutting off suddenly and the flames going still. 

Dabi spoke again, slowly and with force, pointing at the burning bodies then over to the man with the red wings, held in place with Shinsou’s will. He flinched, eyes widening and wings rustling. Chief Enji looked in his direction, mouth twitching then looked away pointedly, refusing to speak. 

Dabi shook his head. “You haven’t changed old man. Keigo, you see?.” Dabi dropped Chief Enji’s head in favor of striding across to the winged man. The blond tilted his head up slightly to meet Dabi’s eyes. “It’s no different. He won’t give up his precious heir, not for any of his other children. Not for you and your child.” 

Eijirou got the distinct feeling there was a lot more going on than they knew but, curious as he was, it wasn’t really his business. Dabi was an ally and as long as he stayed that way he could handle his affairs however he wanted. 

Enji snarled but a sharp nudge from Bakugou into the meat of his seared neck moved him back to teeth grinding silence. A flick of Momo’s wrist and a heavy metal muzzle shimmered into place over the chief’s mouth, effectively silencing him. 

Dabi pulled something from his pocket, it looked like a claiming collar but even from ten paces away Eijirou could feel the magic radiating from it. It was oily, sickly and dark, and it made his stomach turn. The winged man grimaced then, shooting a quick look at Chief Enji, nodded stiffly. Dabi’s answering grin was all teeth. He was quickly to wrap the collar around the winged man’s neck and as soon as it was buckled into place, a black teardrop gem fitting into the hollow of the omega’s throat, something changed. The winged man shouted, back arching and wings snapping open to their full length, eyes rolling back into his head. He stood rigid for a beat, as if he were carved from stone, the only movement from the lines of black seeing from the gem and into his skin, and then crumpled into Dabi’s waiting arms. 

“I have three more of these collars, for the heir and his men.” Dabi explained as he, seemingly with no effort, lifted the winged man up bridal style. “It’s tricky magic, but it’s solid and binding. Whoever gets one onto an omega becomes their master, body, soul, and magic. The catch is they have to submit first.” 

Dabi grinned again. “Upside, you can just beat and fuck them into submission. Still counts.” 

Bakugou looked interested, Eijirou could see it in the gleam of his eyes in the firelight, but also skeptical. “Why would we do that? Our deal is done, isn’t it? King is deposed, waiting for you to kill, you’ve got his omega, and you promise to stay out of my lands. We never said anything about the heir. Seems like a lot of trouble when you could just kill him.” 

“I could.” Dabi agreed. “But that would be a waste. He’s strong, might be stronger than his father one day. Breed under the demon moon, born under another, worthy of being an heir even though he should have been nothing but a breeder, given away to solidify a treaty at best.” 

Dabi’s eyes darkened and for a moment the air simmered with heat. Then he shrugged and the chill of the summer night returned, chasing away the sweat that had begun to prickle at Eijirou’s brow. “And the omega elf at his side, Midoriya? Is the only living child of the Hero All Might.” 

Eijirou sighed. “You should have lead with that.” 

While everyone knew about All Might and admired the man, Bakugou borderline worshipped the hero. He’d dedicated years of his life to hunting down relics, scrolls, and any and all information he could gather, had even added supposed strands of All Might’s hair to the metal that became the hilt of his dragon fang swords. 

If he’d been born into the same age, and not some hundred years after the hero’s death, Bakugou probably would have tried to kill the man himself to inherit his power, but only after gushing for hours on end about what an inspiration he was. Descendents of All Might were common, in so far as people claiming to be one went, but Bakugou had spilled and tested enough blood to come to the conclusion it was all lies.  

But an elf. Elves were rarely round outside of their own kingdom, the place that existed between all things and could only be found when not looking or when dragged through the veil by the fae, and were very long lived. A hundred years would be just enough time for an elf to come to maturity, and reasonably be an actual child of All Might, not just a great great grandchild. 

Bakugou’s eyes burned and the smile that curved his lips was the same that he wore into battle just before the berserker haze took over. “You can prove the elf is All Might’s kid?” Dabi nodded. “Give me the fucking collars. How do we find them?” 

Dabi looked up at the huge, red tinted moon. “We’ll execute Enji at first light, then Shouto will come to us, seeking what he thinks is rightfully his.” 


They settled in, took over a few of the huts then spend the rest of the night in celebration. Their men enjoyed the food, the drink, and the caught omegas, while Eijirou and the other generals planned into the twilight hours with their king. 

When the sun’s first rays touched the earth Dabi sauntered out of the Chief’s hut, bare chested and wearing a cheshire grin, dragged Enji into the center of the village, and neatly beheaded him with an ax. 

Eijirou pretended he didn’t hear the quiet “Rest in hell father.” 

The chieftain’s blood was caught in a simple clay bowl and presented to Dabi who looked skyward once before nodding and taking it back to the hut. 

Two days later, at dusk, Enji’s heir came tearing into camp like an avenging angel. He was a sight, dirty, sunburned, long hair a snarl of red and white, the blood of the men he killed on his rampage to the chieftain's hut splattering his body, dripping from his claws, staining his teeth. A sword of flame was clasped in one hand and the other was covered in pink stained ice spikes. 

He was terrible, furious, and Eijirou had never wanted anything, or anyone, like he wanted in that moment. He barely saw the other omegas, one a dark spot against the darkening sky, diving and snatching up warriors with blinding speed, and the other a green haired elf striking down men with fists and bare feet.

Bakugou laughed, loud and wild, fur sprouting and teeth lengthening as the change overtook him. “I’m going for the elf. Keep the heir and the bird busy until I can help.” 

“I can...I’ll handle the heir.” 

That got him a look, narrowed eyes and searching, before his king laughed again. “See something you like, shitty hair? Guess your knot isn’t broken after all.” 

Eijirou cast his eyes over at the (former? Where did Enji’s death leave this one?) prince, throwing himself headlong into another clump of fighters. The dragon under his skin, centuries old power and instinct and banked desire, stirred. “Guess not.” 

Eijirou went right for the prince, breaking into a run once he hit the edge of the righting. From the corner of his eye he saw Bakugou bounding over their comrades in great leaps, crashing into the elf, falling towards the ground in a tangle of limbs, and to the otherwise Sero and Shinsou working together to tether and bring down the flying man (harpy, maybe?), but then he was within range of the prince and nothing else mattered. His senses kicked on, turned up into a gear he hadn’t known was possible, and his body changed, grew, hardened. He could smell blood, sweat, burning hair and flesh, tears, but most of all he could smell Enji’s heir, ashes and salt water and blood and something that made his mouth water and teeth itch. He heard the rapid thumping of his heart, grunts and snarls as he clashed with others, saw only him amongst faceless shadows. He reached him and then they were fighting. 

Flames licked at his scales, harmless tickles of heat that meant nothing to a dragon’s thick hide, and blades and spikes of ice shattered against him. Spells fizzled out, neutralized (He was magic at his very core, couldn’t be hurt by what he was) and furious claws and fangs dug in but couldn’t do more than scratch and leave puncture wounds that he didn’t feel. He couldn’t be brought down like this, he was a dragon after a prize and so he was unbreakable. 

The prince, to his credit, was strong and stubborn and smelled like death and anger. He called flames and ice, weapon after weapon, wave after wave, lashed out with everything he had, kicked and punched and snapped, snarled and swore, promised death and a bloody screaming end for Eijirou and everyone with him. He was impossible to get a hold of, even harder to hold down, slipping away and getting back up, calling forth more power like he had a limitless power source. 

But Eijirou’s power came from an older place, was quiet and unassuming, it was patient and built to outlast. The prince was finely honed sword but Eijirou was a shield that wouldn’t fall. The dragons he’d taken his power from knew of mates, knew that to win one you had to overpower them, break them and make them part of the hoard, own them through sheer force because dragons didn’t submit lightly, and those dragons delighted in doing just that. 

The prince’s energy started to flag, his speed and power waned, and then Eijirou struck. He laid into him with hard punches, the force of dense bone like rocks and craggy scales as hard as any metal behind them, felt bones cracking under his fists as he drove him to the ground a final time. He followed him down, put a knee into the fallen prince’s back and gripped a handful of hair to forced force his head back at an angle that had to hurt, peered down into blazing mismatched eyes and a face contorted into a snarl. 

He kissed than furious mouth, accepted the fanged bite to his lip and tongue and licked his blood past plush lips. The prince tore away, leaving hair behind in Eijirou’s grip, bucked and squirmed, swung wildly. Eijirou put a hand on his head, ducked a wild clawed swing, and then slammed the prince’s head into the hard packed earth as hard as he could. 

The body beneath him went limp. 

The roar of triumph that tore from his throat felt good, satisfying, and the answering howl warmed his chest. 

Body thrumming with power and adrenaline he hauled himself onto shaky legs and made to take his prey back to camp, dragging the limp form by it’s hair. Each step brought awareness of a new wound. He was, he realized when he took mental stock, bleeding profusely and might have a few broken ribs. 

This one, the dragons inside of him sang when he glanced back at the beaten omega who would be his, this one would look beautiful back in their home, among their treasures, their most hard won battle since they’d eaten their first dragon.  

Mostly won, he corrected, thinking of the collar sitting heavy in his pocket. They weren’t quite done yet.